“No, thanks. I’ll just wait for the next elevator,” I replied in the politest tone possible to point out her insincerity when she was repeatedly pushing the door close button like a woodpecker drumming against a metal roof, her smile never faded until the door began closing after a brief delay, and I had just enough time to finish my sentence, yet just before the door closed, I could see there was a frayed yellow ribbon, the most popular token of freedom, tied to her right wrist.
Found myself alone in the corridor again, the raw distress kindled by my intense distrust for the state of anarchy, which defined by the absence of a government, resurfaced because I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like walking down a street after the government had dissolved. Would there be armed gangsters randomly beating up innocent people on the street? Would robbery and kidnapping become everyday problems? Would I be able to make it to the office safely? I was afraid, my stomach was churning at the thought of it, and furious at the same time, purely because the freedom-pursuers had voted for destroying this country without even realizing. And I believed ignorance was my biggest enemy at that time.
But soon, when images of the three people in the elevator suddenly flashed through my mind, I figured it would probably be just another day at the office as they were all acting like it was, at least none of them were armed with anything more dangerous than a sandwich, and such thought helped ease my nervousness. So, gingerly, I pressed the down button again, and when the elevator door slid open, I ventured into it. The journey downward was quick, less than fifteen seconds, and to make up for lost time, I dashed out quickly and exited the building through a poorly-lit narrow hallway beautified with a sprinkling of ashes at the exact moment when the door opened.
The bus stop with a rudimentary shelter was located on the other side of the single-track road. Drew in a refreshing breath to soothe my impatience and hastened along the sidewalk paved with rectangular red bricks, which the gaps between bricks were filled with glue, by jostling my way through the crush to a crosswalk at the end of the street, I halted, grasping the railing that was half of my height for support at the edge of the road, and waited for the traffic light to change to purple. When it changed, the seething mass of crowd, including me, began crossing the street like a battalion of Trade Federation droids marching into battles; of course, we were all moving in a pace much faster than those droids.
Midway across the road, I noticed that a red double-decker was approaching the bus stop. And I instinctively ran toward it in the road to avoid getting caught up in the throngs of pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk and successfully boarded it. Despite the morning rush hour constituted by few dozens of private vehicles driven by egocentric people, I got off the bus at my usual stop at the usual time and headed for the Burlinger Tower, a forty-story commercial building that stood out from all of its neighbors because it looked ridiculously like a giant mirror from the outside, and waited in front of a modern cafe embellished with detailed maps of every countries in the world for a new colleague, Aaron Moore, the man hired to replace my position merely because I had rashly handed in the resignation letter a month ago, which I had always been yearning to do ever since the day of the plebiscite last year, and I never regretted it; on the contrary, I was overjoyed at it as it meant I could finally leave this place.
My eyes were gleaming with elation that made the world seem a better place to be in when a cool morning breeze brushed against my pale cheek, reminding me that it’s already quarter to nine, fifteen minutes past the scheduled time, but there was still no sign of him, and it frustrated me. Leaning against a road sign that showed the way to The Academy for Performing Arts, I began snapping my head around, looking for him, until a jet-black roadster with an engine emitting an intolerable deafening racket stopped at the edge of the sidewalk in front of me and engrossed me wholly. I gazed at the young motorcyclist, who was wearing a black coat with a pentagon-like reflective logo on his chest, as he planted his feet on the ground and was taking off his rock-hard, crimson-red helmet, revealing a head of brown curly hair.
“You must be Ashton,” the motorist said, staring back at me with a silly grin.
He seemed nice at first. “Yes, I am. And if I’m not mistaken, you must be Aaron,” I replied, in a corresponding tone of voice that fitted that occasion, moved forward and reached out to try to shake his, but never grabbed a hand.
He was busy double-clicking the touch screen of his overpriced phone, which he just pulled out from his left blue jean pocket, and was completely unheedful of my outstretched arm. The world seemed to have hushed at that particular awkward moment when I left my hand hanging in midair, and to shake off the awkwardness that had bloomed, I had to draw my arm back and cough twice intentionally to catch his attention while maintaining a dramatic visage of cheerfulness.
So he finally cast a cursory glance at me with widened eyes like he was puzzled at what was going on when I espied a filthy-looking furry rat racing past in between his feet, and instinctively, I flurried to take a step backward to stay away from it; the existence of rats was far worse than someone being ignorant.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, Ashton,” he said airily, as he swiveled his eyes down on the screen again and cocked his head slightly as though attempting to find a better angle, his eyes never deviated from it then.
I bet he didn’t really think it’s nice to meet me, so I flurried to take one more step backward again as though he was a rat, with my shoulders shrugging this time. It wasn’t the ungracious rudeness that agitated me, but the inexcusable phoniness that I found undesirable. And that’s how I then came to a conclusion that he must be one of those freedom-pursuers.
“Thank you. It’s very nice to meet you as well,” I said with a sarcastic grin, and on a whim, I looked up at the road sign and continued. “Are you a graduate of The Academy for Performing Arts?”
“No. Why?”
“Because you seem to have a natural acting talent, and your blue jean. It really makes you look like one of the students there, not to mention the phone you’re holding. It’s definitely one of the best, which every students would love to have one.”
Made a rolling motion with his phone like a kid showing off his new toy, “Thanks, but let’s not waste any more time standing here, shall we? I’m freezing.” He then scurried to the revolving door installed at the main entrance of the building alone and entered it.
I knew he felt flattered when he left, judging by the faint smile that flickered across his face. So, feeling triumphant, I walked behind him.
“Tenth floor, is it?” he asked, as he hit the up button.
“Yes. When we arrive, I’ll show you around the place first, though there’s not really much to see, but it’s a really good chance to get to know the people who you are going to work with and establish some positive relationships first,” I said when we were walking into an elevator.
“So, can I ask you a question please?”
Honestly ‘please’ was the last word I’d expect to hear from him after experiencing his rudeness. And I had thought he was that type of people who would speak out their mind directly without caring about others’ feelings.
“Uh-hm.”
“Why did you resign? I mean, did something bad happen?” he said modestly.
He being modest aroused my interest, and I decided to give him what he wanted to know. “No, it’s not like that. Nothing bad happened, don’t worry. People you are about to meet are really nice people. We always hang out together. The only thing you’ll have to concern yourself with is getting your job done and causing no trouble. It’s just like I woke up one day and I suddenly realized I didn’t want to stay in this company any longer.” The elevator stopped. “But perhaps it’s mainly because I am planning on leaving the country.”